Bhagat Singh ki Murat (Statue of Bhagat Singh)

There is news from Delhi
alas! Alas!!
What a mess they have made
Of Bhagat Singh
In the Parliament Complex!

For sixty years they petitioned
The British rejected him
But YOU! Our own government.
Erect his statue
in the Parliament Complex
At last the government thumped its chest
and said why not!
and erected the statue in the Parliament Complex.
But when the veil was lifted
You discover it is not Bhagat Singh
That 24 year old beautiful lad
Nor his young limbs that they could not properly burn
On the fateful night when they hanged him.

It is some 60 years old guy
Flabby and tired looking
With upturned mustaches
Oh what the hell is this.
This is not our Bhagat Singh
In the Parliament Square
Who the hell is he?

Ha ha ha! Dear friends
Wipe your tears look closely
At all the other statues in the Parliament
Is it the same Jawaharlal as he was?
Is it the same Gandhi?
The same Abul Kalam Azad?

The in-coming and out-going respected parliamentarians
Have made an omelet of their reality
And gobbled them up long long ago.
In this grand square
Only cissored and edited versions
Can find a lasting place.

Bhagat Singh was the child of his time
And times have changed. He loved Urdu poetry and Ghalib
And Glaib, getting rid of his robe
Is Ghalib now, winking and singing some trashy “gazal”
Aishwarya Rai is dancing on it
So kind of her.

And in his city Lahore
Bhagat Singh is a Sikh
Who perhaps migrated to India in 1947
Such names make people nervous
Is the god-damn man coming back?
to claim his property??
We shall never let that happen
After all we left fields and barns
shops and houses in Ludhyana.

Bhagat Singh was a pure Indian
His times are swept away with the wind
He was a purely Indian earth-song
Light in the water
Rustling in the wind
He was a purely Indian passion of his time
And times have changed.

Let his statue remain where it has remained for 60 years
Across both sides of the border
In a heart or two.
There every morning
Longings as innocent and ignorant as little children
Cover his young body with fresh garlands of marigold
Bathe his limbs with tears of love and adoration
He belongs there
He is happy there.